


Shoulders Smooth as Raven's Claws

by st_ivalice



Series: simul stabunt, simul cadent [7]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Amicitia lore, Brotherhood: Final Fantasy XV, Established Regclar, Gen, M/M, Single Father Clarus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 15:20:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16746493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_ivalice/pseuds/st_ivalice
Summary: The Shield of the King is the foundation Insomnia and her King are built upon, but a life of dedication and devotion is far from unchanging. As Gladio prepares to take his formal oath, Clarus reexamines his own role after an assassination attempt.





	Shoulders Smooth as Raven's Claws

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place two weeks after Part 3 of Awake.

Of all the Noble Houses of Lucis, dead or extant, ancient or fledgling, there is but one that bears two mottos. For it is only House Amicitia that has sworn its loyalty and blood to the Kings of Lucis. House Amicitia must proclaim its duty and in the same breath whisper its stalwart and valiant resolve.

For its loyalty, _ex amicitia pax_ ; Peace Through Friendship. For its blood, _alis grave nil_ ; Nothing is Heavy to Those Who Have Wings.

Every Amicitia born to the name knows these words by heart, the title of Shield not always promised to the eldest, to the strongest, to the swiftest. Two millennia have only refined their ability to determine who will fall under the Raven’s grasp.

Death looms over every Lucian King, but the Raven is her herald, to bring death and to embrace it; the Crest of the Shield. A Shield will tell his children, _cum corvus loquitur nomen tuum_. When the Raven speaks your name. Because it is not only through birthright that she chooses. Perhaps that is why, and Clarus will never know for certain, his mother tested both her children.

Crescentia Amicitia, one hundred and twelfth Shield to the King, was the first of many things. The first daughter in five generations, the first mother of twins in seven, the first to let her children choose.

His mother possessed an innate ability to accurately determine a person’s talents. Their birth was difficult, his sister breech, umbilical around her neck, and she named her Felicia, who since then, has always been lucky, and who, because of how they laid in their mother’s womb, had to be removed second. And she named him Clarus, which meant clarity, despite being born _caput galeatum_ , with the caul, because she could see in his blue eyes an ability to assess like her.

She never favored either over the other, training them equally, because men had determined their birth order when they had cut them out of her, not the Astrals, and so the birthright as eldest, as firstborn belonged to both of them. She knew a Shield would come from one of them which was why she had another child, one that she could raise away from the grip of the Raven.

But Death is not so kind.

Nothing is heavy to those who have wings, and Death took from them his father and his brother, a Niflheim attack meant to weaken the King’s Shield. His mother never showed how much losing both her husband and youngest son at the same time affected her, except for the color draining from her hair within a month’s time. Yet she stayed by the King’s side, unwavering, to show her dedication and resolve. But Clarus, with his gift, saw that his mother turned her sorrow into action. Her husband gone, her commitment was completely the King’s; her son gone, her focus on the Leonis prodigy was just as consuming. Perhaps Cor’s role filled the void that was meant for Justus, but it allowed Clarus to find the _justice_ for him and his father.

When he returned, before the blood on his sword was dry, his mother looked at him with the same eyes he had and she announced that he would be her successor. Clarus remembered that on that day, on the steps of the throne room, her hand a vice on his shoulder, his mother was the Raven.

He was struck by how _clear_ the memory was, all of it, but of course, the irony was not lost on him, not here at her mausoleum. Jared once mentioned how it was easier to take in the full breadth of one’s life when its entirety was etched into a stone, beginning and end, the dash meant for their minds to fill in the space.

Today, on her birthday, he was her son, not the Shield, and Gladio and Iris were simply her grandchildren paying their respects, and he tried his best to ignore the marble ravens that adorned the walls, setting their eyes and claws upon his children. He cast a glance at the crypt alongside his mother’s, acknowledging to himself his father and brother’s resting place and how soon the anniversary of their final dates was approaching.

Gladio peered sidelong at him, determining if he was finished with his prayer to the Astrals and inner reflections. Iris, bless her, looked as if she was trying her hardest to remember the grandmother that passed when she was six. He gave her a few more seconds and nodded to Gladio. “Ready?”

Clarus placed a wreath of crescentia twigs and fruit on the stone casket. After Gladio placed his bouquet of gladioli on top of it, he helped lift Iris so she could place her namesakes. It was fitting that they did so; she had been the one to name them. The Lady Shield had gazed upon both grandchildren when they were born and decided they would all share a theme with her, but he also suspected she had given them names with lesser weight than what she had given her own children. Still, he knew she had done her assessment, knew that Gladio would take up the sword, and eight years later, knew that Iris would be his joy, his child away from The Grip. What he did not know was that his children would make a lighthearted promise with her to make sure he smiled; his mother also possessed a sense of humor.

“Happy Birthday, Grandma,” Iris said, still in Gladio’s arms. At eleven, she was going through a growth spurt but Gladio could still lift her with one arm. So could he.

Clarus smiled now, planting a kiss on Iris’ forehead and took her from him. “C’mon.” As she transitioned into a piggyback, they started their journey out of the Amicitia mausoleum.

He was certain the press couldn’t see them this far in or get decent pictures. Perhaps the public might frown upon how much he spoiled Iris—which in truth, he made very sure his children were not entitled, but they knew nothing of their family. Negative public opinion of the current Amicitias swayed between ‘spoiled, wealthy brats’ and ‘motherless, neglected heirs,’ but he could care less about public opinion, even if most of it was of the highest regard.

His children were his life; and that went without saying that his life belonged to Regis, because that part of him that was _just_ Clarus, was safeguarded and shared with a handful of people. Even without the Lucian line, House Amicitia was a prosperous house because they raised every member, every child to live the fullest of lives; a necessary thing, if it must be given in the stead of the king. And so he raised Gladio and Iris as he would in his duty to the throne and in his love for his House. His legacy as Shield would be Regis, but his legacy as Clarus would be his children, and if his life was in service to the kingdom, he could die at a moment’s notice with the peace that he gave them all the love he could. Gossip articles and slander magazines be damned. If Gladio was his pride, Iris was surely his joy and he would always let that be shown.

He placed his hand across Gladio’s shoulders, a difficult feat now that he was nearly the same height.

“Do you remember that time I was eight,” Gladio started, “And Grandma was training me and I accidentally knocked her down and I thought I’d hurt her real bad?”

Clarus smiled at the memory. “And she yelled for me across the house.”

“I _really_ thought I was done for.”

“Did you get in trouble?” Iris asked. He was rather proud she was always eager to hear more stories about her grandmother. He tried so much to instill her lessons in them, and luckily, Gladio had had most of his formative years with her, but Iris was young enough to forget.

“Nope,” Gladio continued. “Turns out she was laughing. She was so excited I did that.”

“I wasn’t able to knock her down until I was ten,” Clarus said, and now that he thought more on it, he had been training with his mother when she was in her prime. “I think she also wanted to tease me about it.”

“Man,” Iris pouted. “I wish she could have trained me, even if I’m not the shield.”

“She _did._ She always said you were the one to inherit her ferocity and competitiveness.”

Gladio snorted. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Iris nudged her brother with an elbow, getting the side of his head. “Oh yeah?”

Despite the smile forming on his face, he intervened. “Be mindful of where we are.” Gladio shot an annoyed glare at her but grinned.

“You got lucky, but I’m picking you up from school today, so…”

“ _So?_ ” She goaded.

“So maybe I might forget to stop by the mall and get you that new moogle waist bag you’ve been wanting.”

“ _What?!?_ ” Iris squealed in his ear.

“ _Iris._ ”

“Sorry, Daddy.” She kissed the top of his head and got down to walk between them. “It’s not even my birthday yet.”

Gladio shrugged, smiling down at her. “You did really well in soccer this season.”

“She _always_ does well in soccer.”

His son made a face to prove his point. “She’s like Cor. Good at _everything_. I got a list.”

Clarus hummed in agreement. To say that Iris was _good_ at everything was an understatement. It goes without saying that both his children excelled in many things, both from his expectation and their own personal drive, but Iris did exceptionally well in all of her academics and extra-cirriculars, possessing an even greater amount of rigorous self-discipline than her brother.

“Ferocious _and_ competitive,” he affirmed.

A content smile made its way across Gladio’s face and he nodded. “Own it sis. It’s who you are. It’s who _we_ are.”

Iris matched her brother’s smile as the force of his hand giving her a reassuring pat on the back made her lurch forward a half-step. Her stride transitioned effortlessly to absorb it.

He winced as much at it made him smile. He never needed to tell Gladio to be gentle with his sister, because even at eight when Iris was born, his son was already conscious of his size and strength. Iris, like everyone of them in their family, possessed the sturdy Amicitia build, but straight from birth she knew she was always in competition with her brother, always giving him a run for his money. How often did he hear his children arguing or hell, even _playing_ , and he’d walk into the room and Iris had a visible bump on her head and Gladio was sporting a bloody nose or black eye? But even still, it was their affection they were known for, the dreaded and infamous Amicitia hugs.

Spinning around and walking backwards, Iris grinned and said, “So, are you coming to the ice cream social, daddy?”

She played it off in the usual manner she did with non-mandatory school events, but he knew how much it meant to her for both he and Gladio to be visible at her school, especially since it was the third time she asked.

“Of course, my darling,” he answered, if only for her to know that he was serious. He had had Julius and Monica clear his schedule for it, despite the increase in responsibilities due to Regis’ health.

Her face lit up. “Awesome! Gladdy too?”

Clarus glanced sidelong at him, his son just as busy with his Crownsguard final assessment approaching in three weeks.

Gladio grinned too. “You know I don’t say no to free food.”

Iris nodded expectantly. “Good. I told them to bring _double_ butter pecan for you since you finished two gallons _by yourself_.”

“Dope.”

As they approached the entrance of the cemetery, Julius greeted them with a smile. “Wish our Lady Shield all the best, Sir?”

Smiling, Clarus nodded. “Only the best for her, Jules.”

Julius was barely old enough to remember his mother in her prime and certainly never had the opportunity to work under her command, but all the same, he gave her the respect and appreciation he did to every member of his family as if she were still alive. Of course, that wasn’t a defining factor in his selection as his direct report and joint head of Shield Division—his skills notwithstanding— but it helped.

“Good to hear. Shall we?” He ushered them to the Crown Car already idling, signaling the other car and pair of guards to head off and relieve them of crowd control. There was a sizable crowd across the street waiting to also pay their respects to the Lady Shield. Surprisingly, they only had to chase off two journalists who broke the press line, but there was a significant increase of media following them this year to the cemetery because of the museum exhibit opening dedicated to his mother and Gladio coming of age.

Before Iris ducked in, she said, “You’re invited to the ice cream social, too, Julius.”

“That’s very kind of you, but I’ll be making sure everything runs smoothly while your father is out. And I’m lactose intolerant.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot. That’s too bad. But thank you for clearing my dad’s schedule.”

Julius shared a glance with Clarus and he nodded his thanks, appreciative that Iris already understood much of the nuances that went into them functioning as a family and as public servants.

Once they were all in, Julius began the route to the Royal Lucian Academy. Most days they chatted about anything and everything, Iris asking him a question on history and in the next breath, asking Gladio about the Moogle Mysteries books she was reading, but today, both his children were decidedly silent, perhaps ruminating on the life of their grandmother. Iris peered wistfully out the window at the looming figures of the Old Wall passing by.

Starting next school year, Iris had the option to attend classes at the Citadel campus, and pending her decision—whether she wanted to be closer to her brother and father or not, _whether she decided to begin assessment for Crownsguard or not_ — they would make the necessary changes. In general that entailed a single car most days, when he didn’t have to report to the Citadel early. Currently, on the days when Gladio or himself couldn’t drop her off, she had a private Crown car take her straight to school. And even then, that was reliant on if she changed what session she wanted; morning or afternoon.

Iris was a trendsetter because of who she was. There had been a waitlist for morning sessions when she started, no doubt caused by aristocratic parents wanting their children to cozy up with an Amicitia. And when she joined soccer, hundreds of children tried out to join the team. It was worse for the years Gladio attended, but he was proud his children didn’t abuse their position in a setting that so easily catered to them. Gladio was very personable with his peers, taking the time to assist them in subjects or athletics, and Iris, he discovered, made it a point to befriend any new students, especially those whose families had lower standing or wealth or were ostracized for their family’s perceived societal slights.

They pulled up to the drop off and Clarus exited the vehicle, Iris taking his hand as he slung her backpack over his shoulder. After a few steps, she stopped and turned around. “Aren’t you coming too?” she asked Gladio.

He opened the door and frowned at her. “You don’t think it’s weird?”

“Why? You _always_ drop me to the gate.”

Clarus raised his eyebrows at him. Gladio shrugged. “Alright, since you probably will think it’s uncool next year.”

He took her backpack from him and they all continued to the front gate.

“Geez, ya carrying a ton of bricks in here or what? Aren’t exams soon? Why do you have so many books?”

“Studying? _Hello?_ I have to keep my GPA at the top. I’m not just a fancy name and second heir,” she sassed back. “Mine’s higher than yours was by the way.”

Clarus smirked because she got what she wanted and one-upped her brother.

“Hey Iris!” a girl called out.

“Hey Marcella!”

She waved and instantly regretted it because several more students also greeted her and there were even a few ‘ _Good Morning, Mr. Amicitia,_ ’ which parents and family attendants began to catch on to.

“Sorry, daddy,” she said under her breath.

Gladio threw his hands up. “Am I invisible?”

“You scare them,” she tossed over her shoulder.

Clarus snorted.

“But dad doesn’t?”

“ _Dad_ is the Shield of the King. You aren’t.”

“Ouch.” His daughter was brutal.

Gladio gave them both a look. “I should have just stayed in the car,” he grumbled.

Iris let go of his hand and whipped around. “Okay, I can head in from here. Love you!” Jumping up, she gave him a kiss on the cheek and gave Gladio a hug before grabbing her bag. “Hope you have a nice day!”

They watched her disappear into the throng of students before heading back.

“I think she knows that we draw attention,” Gladio said.

“ _We_?” Clarus joked.

“Very funny, dad.”

He slipped his hands into his pockets, giving the morning greeters a polite smile. “Yes, she is _very_ aware of that.” A pair of brothers walking with an older gentlemen caught his eye and he recognized them as members of House Marius and their chamberlain. “But also that we aren’t a normal family. Quite a few of her classmates don’t have their parents drop them or even family members. Mostly attendants.”

“Yeah,” Gladio said sadly. “I know.”

* * *

Julius pulled them into the East Wing entrance, handing off the Crown Car to the fleet supervisor and informed Clarus he’d be upstairs in thirty minutes. Gladio, meanwhile, began his theatrics of stretching out his legs on the stairs.

“Why don’t you ever put the seat back?,” Clarus asked, passing him on the steps.

Gladio stood up to normal height and took two steps at a time to catch up to him. “So you guys have room in back.”

“Fair enough. But you’ve still got a few more inches in you. Don’t mess up your joints so soon.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve got pretty good genes. Knees are never a problem. Bad shoulders, though—”

Clarus winced, the corners of his mouth pulling down, and Gladio paused on the steps, his eyes snapping up to his. “—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—That was in poor taste.”

He waved it away, forcing himself to push aside what’s been on his mind for the past two weeks. “It’s fine, son.”

Gladio still looked on edge but nodded. “I guess I’ll see you sometime today then?”

“Yeah.” Managing a tight smile, he clapped his shoulder and gave a slight squeeze. “Have a good day.”

“You too, dad. Don’t push yourself too hard.”

“No promises.”

Gladio gave the same unhappy grimace but turned and headed towards the Training Halls.

Clarus watched his retreating back before continuing further into the East Wing and to the elevators.

He knew his answer didn’t sit well with Gladio but what could he do? Regis was entering a new stage of his life, one in which the effects of the Crystal and the Wall were so apparent. He’d been steadily losing the ability to summon weapons without it taxing him so greatly, but the worst development—and Clarus remembered the phone call and rush of two weeks ago—was that he could no longer walk unaided. It was a long time coming, but that didn’t mean they were prepared for it, that Regis would be in such pain, that he required a reprieve from his duties which in turn fell upon himself.

The first week he spent much of his waking hours by Regis’ side until he had retreated emotionally from him and Clarus had thrown himself into his work and the kingdom to distract himself from it all. This week was better with slight improvement, but whether this arrangement was temporary or permanent would need to be worked out soon. He couldn’t spend all his time in the Citadel, nor he could give the brunt of Regis’ duties to the prince so suddenly. Like it or not, by Regis or Noctis, the time was quickly approaching for Noctis to take on more responsibilities. And by extension, that meant Gladio and Ignis as well. He had all the best confidence in the boys’ skills but they were by no means ready. And he could agree with Regis on that at least.

He considered taking the elevator to Regis, who was to be on bedrest but Clarus knew the impatience that would take hold of him, the stubbornness to accept that his independence was waning. Within those things, however, he also knew that Regis retreated into himself like this on two other occasions; when Aulea passed and when the Crystal whispered Noctis’ name.

He wished to be there for his King, for Regis. Other attendants, council members could leave and respect the king’s privacy, but not him. Never him, not even once. Not as Shield, not as friend, not as _Clarus_. It pained him to be separated, to know that Regis was hurting and in that pain push him away. Both times, Regis had come to him, but this was the longest he’d kept him at a distance, even their bond strained.

Clarus pulled his phone from his pocket, Regis’ message from earlier still the most recent.

>> _Flowers need tending. Spend the morning with them. I’ll be fine._

Clenching his jaw, Clarus pressed the button for the administration level, inputing his credentials, and forced his emotions aside. First the affairs of the kingdom, and after, his personal ones.

The doors opened and he prepared himself for the duties of the day. First order of business, check-in with Monica and Cor. Essentially, they were running the kingdom at this moment.

The change on the floor was always palpable when he walked on; backs were straighter, office efficiency increased by thirteen percent, or so he was told, but he didn’t care too much about it. People did good work and nearly everyone here was senior staff and worked with each other for years. His tablet with today’s files was already on the receiving desk, Severine already having received notice of his arrival.

“Good Morning, Sir,” she greeted with a quick smile before returning back to her monitors. The highest-ranked fighter in hand to hand combat in the Citadel, he always wondered why she chose to sit behind a desk. She’d excel on ops or extraction, but then she always arranged the most organized intel sets and corrected his thinking. At least he’d convinced her to train recruits and reissue certifications for active guard, on her condition that she oversee some of Gladio’s training.

“Morning, Sev,” he answered, “Monica in her office?”

“As always.”

“Cor _not_ here?” Unlike Monica, who kept strict office hours, Cor was only ever in his office for an hour. Astrals-bless you if you were lucky enough to find out which one it was in the day.

She grinned, typing in a string of identification numbers for staff she had memorized. “ _As always._ ”

Clarus hummed, gathering his tablet. “Of course. I’ll be in mine if you need me.”

“Alright.”

He left her to her work and headed to his office, thumbing the home button on the tablet to read his fingerprint and unlock. Seventy-three items needed his attention by the end of the day, fifteen by noon. Most were forms that needed his signature, proposals for approval, schedule changes, meetings, followups. At least twenty of these were Regis’ thatwere rescheduled or would continue without him.

Passing Monica’s office, he peeked through the glass and waved at her to let her know he was available whenever she was. She was on the phone, but noticed him and gestured she be there when she was done. Finally at his office, he opened the blinds and sat unceremoniously on his couch as he surveyed the city; the modern residences, the eroding ramparts of the ancient kingdom, the ripple of the Wall, and the blurry landscape beyond it.

His mother had stood here with him once, ending a war, and they watched as the Wall receded to the ramparts. Fresh from Accordo, he was brimming with disappointment and she had brought him here. One battle was not his focus. His King, his kingdom. His focus should lie in that.

Six bless and curse him that he could not focus on anything else _but_ Regis. That history would be certain to record his name among those of his bloodline devoted to their Kings and examine every nuance of that fealty and dedication. There was no question of it, shaped by the nature of their lives, and perhaps, shaped by his mother. Yes, he was certain of this. She had observed and measured how best to use her son’s devotion in the interest of the kingdom.

Clarus ran his hands over his face and released a slow breath.

Her decisions yes, but also his desire. From the beginning, Regis had always been his. His prince, his duty, his King.

Resting his chin on his hand, he considered what came next. He must find some way to find compromise once more between Regis and the King.

There was a knock at his door, and he knew it must either be Monica, Julius, or Cor, the only people unafraid to disturbhim. He drew a breath, running his fingers over his shorn hair, and called them in.

Monica opened the door and peeked in. “Hey. Am I disturbing you?”

“Not at all. Please, have a seat.”

“Thank-you, sir,” she said and sat next to him on the couch. “I know we’re still waiting on Julius, and—” she paused, unlocking her tablet, “—I know it’s a longshot, but have you had a chance to look over the communications report I sent?”

“Not yet. Do you need it now?” It was unusual of her to single out a report unless it was important and in that event she would have flagged it as a priority. But he was on a backlog and she was running things this morning.

“Oh no, not _right_ now. I know you have more pressing matters. But if you could look over it later, that’d be great. I just can’t shake a feeling about it.”

“Mon,” he reassured, “Every matter is pressing if it comes from you. Let’s take a look at it now. I trust your gut.” Two decades worth of her work and he knew every lead she had was solid. Hell, when it wasn’t Cor, he relied on _her._

“I appreciate it. Read through it first and we’ll dive in.”

Placing his reading glasses on, he scrolled through the report on his tablet. Specifically, it focused on a communications log of the City’s weekly external broadcast to refugees from the South Tower. Their short and long wave radio transmissions and most other communications that didn’t run through cable, had to be outside of the Wall because the amount of interference from the Wall’s magic was troublesome. As far as he could see, everything was within their normal parameters.

“What am I missing?” Clarus pursed his lips. “It reads like a normal communications report.”

“From these parameters, nothing,” she said, toggling the filters on her tablet, “But take a look at the amount of data going out last week and compare it to the two previous weeks—nearly a _terabyte_ of information.”

“Information that is _accounted_ for? The broadcasts haven’t changed.” Unless they have. He took careful consideration to anything even remotely affecting the security of the City, but the heavy workload of the past weeks may have overshadowed that detail. Both of them missing that detail however?

Monica hummed, adjusting her parameters again. “This isn’t the only occurrence. This occurs every three weeks, just outside the standard filters we’ve set. As far back as two years.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I _don’t_ like that.”

“That’s why I brought it up.”

The corner of his mouth tugged slightly and he peered sidelong at her. “To skip protocol.”

“Of course,” she grinned. “But I am annoyed this has gone unnoticed for this long. I don’t run all these extra reports for _fun_ , sir.”

Grinning, Clarus gave her an expression that called her out.

“Alright, _most_ of them, I don’t run for fun.” She smiled more broadly to herself. “But yes, you know _I_ don’t like the filter standards we’ve set up for communications. Far too lax for a third party involvement, but I also don’t want to run reports for sixteen extra hours so, I appreciate the clearance to run specific ones and flag any potential concerns.”

“And that’s why you’re my number one. Don’t tell Julius,” he said, garnering another grin from her. Returning to his tablet, he considered the data frequency, and pursed his lips again. “Yeah, I’ve got a feeling about that too. South Tower is contracted out to ICI?”

She grimaced. “Yeah. That’s why I wanted your go ahead on this.”

Insomnia Customs and Immigration was run by members of House Natalis, specifically, Magnus Natalis who would see any inquiry at a top level as a personal attack. There were some personal grudges there that always turned into a headache on the government level, not to mention his brother Janus who sat on the Council. He wouldn’t hear the end of it, but he didn’t care if they were sending out pictures of coeurl kittens or vital information on how to combat daemons. What the hell where they doing sending out unauthorized information?

“Keep an eye on it. See what you can dig up.”

“On it, Sir.” She had an expression that clued him in to the very likely possibility that she already had searches and reports running as they spoke. 

“Good. Anything else? See ya when Julius comes in?”

“Yeah. We’re good.”

“Alright. Great work, Mon.” He stood with her as she got up to leave. As he approached his desk, he heard Cor bump into her in the hallway.

“Hey, Mon.”

“Marshal.”

“How’s that little one doing?

“ _Better._ It’s not parvo.”

“Good to hear.”

Sitting at his desk, Clarus grinned and slipped on his reading glasses once more to go through his tablet. Cor always loved animals but never had the lifestyle to enjoy them. When he entered his office, he didn’t look up from his files. “If the Niffs find out the Marshal has a soft spot for kittens, it’s the end for us.”

He knew Cor was rolling his eyes as he sank into the couch.

“As if you didn’t own a small dog and start a whole trend.”

Ah yes, there was a five year trend of pomeranians because the Amicitia Family owned one.

Clarus placed his tablet down. “Diantha was my _mother’s_ dog.”

“Don’t deny that you loved her and let Iris make a ‘Cor beret’ for her.”

“Even _you_ thought it was cute.”

He dodged the accusation but had a hint of a smile. “How was the cemetery?”

“Good. We left her some flowers.”

Cor’s smile grew. “But only the flowers she _wanted_.”

“Yeah,” he said, pausing to reconsider. Cor has always been so close with his family that it occasionally slipped his mind that he was an Amicitia in everything but name and the late Lady Shield was his second mother. It never occurred to him to ask what kind of flowers she requested be put on her grave, or even that she put him up to it.

“What flowers did she assign you?”

“Dandelions.”

Clarus raised his eyebrows for the obvious pun but Cor pressed his lips together, as if dreading that the time had finally come for his reveal.

“Because I’m stubborn; like a weed.”

He broke into laughter right then, because his mother used _weeds_ as a compliment. “I figured the bouquets were you every year but, damn, she was brutal.” She was still teaching them lessons even after she passed.

Crossing his arms and legs, he leaned back on the couch. “Took you long enough. Felicia figured it out years ago.”

“She got lucky.”

“She always is,” Cor said.

“And Mother was right.”

“I know. She always was.”

They both fell into a silence, musing on the woman who taught both of them, whose shadow they still found themselves under.

After a moment, Clarus licked his lips. “So, did you come here to talk about mother all day?”

“Nope. Just making sure the man running the kingdom is up to date on the goings on of the Citadel. You know your son is sparring with a glaive today?”

“He’s always sparring somebody.” And Gladio was, by his own suggestion, to build experience and form bonds with the guard he’ll eventually lead. A glaive, especially if it was who he thought it was, was his son testing limits.

“Reminds me of someone.”

“Yeah, you.”

Cor laughed quietly to himself, rubbing awkwardly at his neck. The habit of sparring still continued, but the attitude was a far cry from the boy twenty-five years ago. “He wants you to watch.”

Clarus sighed. Any other week, he’d drop what he was doing but there was too much going on right now and he’d already pushed off what he could for the cemetery today.

Cor leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees. “He’s been honing his training,” he continued. “Is he close?”

This conversation was not about Gladio’s final milestones and formal acceptance into the Crownsguard, and he was anticipating it. “That depends on Regis.”

“Bullshit. He’s got two more weeks and after, it’s just your assessment.”

Slipping his eyes closed, he ran his tongue along his teeth to let his annoyance pass for a second before looking at him. Sometimes Cor was the friend and brother he’d become all these years, sometimes he was still that scrappy little shit his mother had taken in. Sometimes he was both.

“These no formal timing for this.” He forgot that Cor had met him when he was already twenty, already a fully sworn Shield and Regis was already bonded with the Crystal. “Traditionally, when the heir can sustain a bond with their shield, but, as I said, we’ll see if Regis is ready to let go and allow his son that transition.”

“He’s not the only one.”

Clarus glared across his desk at Cor, annoyed more with the fact that he could always read him like a book than the fact that he was right. Cor’s usual annoyance aside, he sometimes wondered if his mother groomed Cor to be the voice of reason when she was gone; the pain in the ass that whittled away at his stubbornness and reluctance to do what he needed.

Peering back into Cor’s set frown of disappointment, he changed the adjectives in his mind. Cor didn’t whittle away at something. He _sliced_ and c _harged_ and pressed his advantage until he had his way, but Clarus was going to push back on this issue. Because on this day, he was reminded more of legacy and duty than other days, and he knew he, too, was like Regis, using tradition and prophecy to keep his son to himself as long as he could.

He sighed again. “No, he’s _not._ ”

“Just watch him, Clare. Ulric’s the only one who won’t hold back on him.”

“Alright. But you know this won’t be the first time they spar.” A poor excuse, even if it wasn’t his real one, but he meant that Gladio was sure to arrange other ways to prove his mettle to him.

“But it is the _first_ time. Even if Nyx knocks him on his ass, which he probably will, at least he knows where he stands in your eyes.”

Clarus nodded, acquiescing. “At least he’s not demanding an audience with the Lady Shield after holding a sword for the first time.”

Cor’s jaw set in a grimace at the reminder. “Exactly, and she knocked me on my ass and I still didn’t get it through my thick skull. Had to learn another way.”

He hummed. They hardly spoke about _that_ , about Taelpar Crag, but he agreed. Gladio wasn’t like Cor.

Cor had been brash, headstrong, and arrogant because of his prowess. Gladio was confident in his training, eager in his duty, but also reserved about his ability to live up to the role of Shield—a mindset that history has shown to compose the best Shields.

But for Clarus, it wasn’t whether he needed proof that Gladio was ready, it was that once he made his decision, there would be no turning back for either of them.


End file.
